


To The Sea

by NateFraust



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-08-19 04:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust
Summary: On the edge of the continent, amidst rebellions and terror, two lost souls find each other.





	1. Happy to Be Here

Theon ducked his head, eyes fixed on a divot in the gnarled, shellacked wood of the club.

“Oi! You!” Yara’s voice was rougher with every mug she downed, but it worked well enough to get the waitress’ attention; the girl looked up with a wary glance towards the two of them.

“Yes, m’lady?” The voice was timid, but she walked over nevertheless. Theon glanced at her for a moment, noting the long, ashen-blonde hair and shaking his head a little in exasperation.

“Another round for my little brother and I, eh?” Yara burped, a low rumbling noise that wrinkled the noses of the waitress and other patrons, then grinned with a mouth full of teeth, like… like…

Theon groaned as throbbing pain sliced through the ale-induced haze in his mind for just a moment, closing his eyes as he massaged his neck. It had been hard enough to think _ before _ the - he cracked open an eye to count - dozen or so mugs of dark, thick Tyroshi drink. _ Shoulda refused ‘fore we reached seven… _

“I think he’s had enough, m’lady.” He could hear the mild note of concern in the waitress’ faint voice, as if through leagues of seawater. “Maybe it would be best if-”

“Now, now,” Yara retorted, a note of annoyance in her slurred speech. “All he needs is a little pick-up. Luckily, I have _ just _ the thiiiinnng…”

He’d closed his eyes for just a moment, but at the burning, nearly-roiling scent assailing his nostrils, he sprung up with a grunt, fists pounding on the table.

“We- we don’t really-”

“Ah, c’mere, you.”

He grimaced as he glanced at the mismatched pair; the female Greyjoy had practically shoved her tongue inside the waitress’ mouth, smothering the _ eeaapppp _ of surprise rather thoroughly. Catching his eye, Yara shoved a small white roll of paper his way, along with a lighter. Her eyes did the talking.

Heaving a sigh, Theon scooped up the pair of items, withdrawing a short, oily pipe blackened by use and conception, then carefully unwrapped the roll of paper, dropped a few pale chunks into the opening, and lit the contraption.

* * *

The voice sounded like a song, swelling and sighing, until it finally roared, “_ -give it up for the _Lady Alayne _ ! _”

Theon’s eyes snapped to the long walkway, eyes squinting as spotlights flared to life in the background and silhouetted the latest girl to walk onto her “stage”. That air of mystery only deepened as the girl came on in what looked like some sort of armor from ages past, back when magic had still been in the world: A studded affair in the darkest leather he’d seen in a long while and sporting a seemingly-impractical ring, simple linen pants dyed the lightest of greys, and, to top it all off, a ridiculous-looking spiked leather helm that covered the nose and eyes and, incongruous to the rest of the getup, 3-inch stilettos. He heard some of the other men and women muttering among themselves, grumbling at the lack of skin on this one, but he simply leaned forward, gaze fixated.

Marching toward the pole, the girl grasped it as if it were the haft of a spear and, with one hand, removed her helm. Theon’s brow furrowed, only to loosen again as she tossed the helm right _ at _ him. Fumbling with the thing for a moment, he eventually managed to settle it in his lap, cheeks aflame at Yara’s snickers, and looked up again at the sound of something unzipping. She was facing away from him now, arms outstretched as she tossed the jacket into the other end of the club, and he watched as she wrapped herself down and around the pole, raven locks cascading over her face as the pants, undone now, seemed to wriggle their way over the curve of her arse and down those long, long legs. He bit his lip as she kicked away the offending apparel and vaulted up the pole once more, body twisting upside down and hair hanging free. She twirled.

He sucked in a breath, because he- he _ knew _ those eyes.

Their gazes locked, and he mouthed her name.

Yara had slapped him on the back as soon as the girl had slinked back into the shadows. “Hey, bro. You- _ hcc _ \- you alright? Look like y’ve seen Uncle Aeron’s _ other _ clump of hairs, if you catch my drift… wood.”

Smothering his shudder, he looked at his sister, who was in the middle of bellowing out a deep, bellyful laugh, and muttered, “Gotta take a piss.”

Rising from his seat, he trudged over in the direction of the loo, then, giving one last furtive glance, ducked through the opposite door. Almost immediately, his ears perked up at the faint sound of heavy breathing. He knew what sort this was; _ maybe the only half- _ decent _ thing I got from- from- _

Loosing an involuntary whimper, he covered his mouth and listened again. The sound had quieted some, but was still loud enough. 

_ I’m close. _

Creeping forward ever so slowly, he searched each and every placard. _ Tyana. Rosselin. Jaeni. Cerise. _

_ Alayne. _

He stopped. Sucked in a breath. His palms were sweating like mad; he could feel the moisture even an inch away. Nevertheless, he raised a trembling fist-

And the door opened.


	2. Your Filter Breath

Were it not for the shake of his fist, she might have been fooled into thinking he was some kind of sculpture. When the door slammed shut on his face and she didn’t hear something breaking… she knew.

Those eyes… those eyes…

“_Sansa._”

Gods damn him.

“_Sansa._”

It sounded like a prayer.

“_Sansa-_”

_Don’t say it._

But she knew…

“_I’m sorry._”

Something sorrowfully primal welled up in her throat, but she choked it down as she slumped against the door frame. A minute, a second, an eternity later, she felt the cheap goldenheart substitute rattle.

“_Is he- are you-_”

“Are _they?_” she shot back, biting her lip as her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. “Gods-fucking-_damnit_, did you even give enough of a shit about us to take the shot yourself?”

A huff of breath was all she got.

Groaning in frustration, she crawled to her feet, grabbed a cig and the scuffed pink lighter from the corner, and sat down in the rickety chair. The blasted canister nearly slipped from her sweaty, blood-beaded grip, but she managed to get a good burn going anyways. Sucking in a breath, she croaked, “You can come in.”

The handle turned; the door creaked.

“When this thing burns out,” she said, waving the bundle of leaves in the air and holding up her other hand to keep him quiet, “I am going to call security. If you make any sort of move towards me between now and then, I will scream. Are we clear?”

His left hand twitched, but he nodded.

She glanced him over, something odd settling in her gut as she did so. The hair, it seemed, was the least of whatever had happened to him. His hands glinted dully in the torchlight as they moved to cover his eyes, and his hoodie’s sleeves fell away to reveal scores of patchwork lines and blotches.

“-off.”

She stared.

“Please. Turn it off.”

“Why.”

“I- I don’t-”

She took another drag, letting it out slowly. “Yes, you do. Come on.”

“I- I- I did what I did for my father, for the Islands.”

Another drag. “Wrong answer.” She tapped at the paper, knocking some of the cooling dregs off onto the shitty carpeting. “Try again.”

“I had to protect them - Robb, Bran, Rickon. You must understand that, at least. If I didn’t-” He grasped at the pale wisps at his scalp. “What I did was a _mercy_.”

She sucked at her teeth. The roll was about halfway gone by now. “Mmm… intriguing, but no. Try again.”

“Wha- what do you want me to _say_?!” He was louder now, sea-green irises flashing ochre. His hands trembled at his sides.

She shook her head. “No hints. You’re smart enough… probably.”

Turning on his heel, he began to pace, muttering to himself and throwing sullen glares her way as he went. A few more puffs, she reasoned, then-

“This is about _him_, isn’t it.”

She fixed him with a blank stare, then, standing up, ground the rest of the nub into the oily glass of the ashtray. The phone casing scraped roughly against her injured palm, and she muttered the numbers to herself as she punched them in: “2… 5… 9… 1-”

Something cold touched her waist; she spun, hand flying up-

His eyes were like the sea just before a storm: black, turbulent, and with just a hint of violence.

“_Don’t tou_-”

The feel of his skin on hers, of his lips and tongue and scent roaming over her senses like a wolf over untouched snow - she nearly wept at the sudden clench in her chest. They - _he_ was so- so- _smooth_.

She swallowed a chuckle and a moan as he nipped at her collarbone; her hand came up-

A beep. Another. _Another._

The moment shattered. He backed away, brow knit together and chest heaving.

The air hummed.

She looked down, eyes reading over the text on screen, then sucked in a breath. “_Fuck._”

* * *

**_Hakon:_ **_two bits until first light. Comps are getting antsy._

_ **Hakon:** Where are you_

_ **Melvolka: **omw_


End file.
